Letter to the Reader's Digest

Letter to the Reader's Digest

The Braille Monitor

July,

2002

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Letter

to the Reader's Digest

by Sandy Ryan

From

the Editor: Sandy Ryan was a 1985 NFB scholarship winner. Like most of us she

lives a full and satisfying life, filled with family and community activities.

When she is disturbed by something she reads, she recognizes her responsibility

to try to set the record straight. In the following letter she makes the attempt

with the editors of the Reader's Digest. The response she received from

the publication gives no indication whether or not she was successful in making

her point, but she made the attempt, and who knows what impact it has had on

the outlook of those who read and considered her position. This is what she

said:

Dear

Reader's Digest Editors,

I just finished reading the reprint

of Helen Keller's article "Three Days to See" in the April [2002]

issue. I read the article from the Braille edition of the magazine, and it upset

me to think that you would find this article worth reprinting. I had begun to

hope we were past the dark ages when people wanted to read about how much better

they had things than the disabled.

When Miss Keller wrote the article

more than seventy years ago, a longing to see was probably not uncommon among

the blind. Blind people were thought inferior, and Miss Keller seemed a phenomenon

because, blind and deaf, she was able to live a more or less normal life, meeting

world figures and the like. But she lived that life at the mercy of those around

her, constantly dependent on others. No wonder she longed to walk through the

world alone, free of her encumbrances!

In seventy years things have changed.

Blind people (and yes, deaf-blind people) hold jobs, have much improved means

of communication, and for the most part make their own way through the world.

In 1940 a small group of blind people met in Wilkes- Barre, Pennsylvania, to

establish the National Federation of the Blind. They created a community that

has grown to more than 60,000 members and worked together to reach toward independence.

They began the task of teaching our sighted families and friends the truth--that

blindness is a characteristic, at most a nuisance, and needn't ruin one's life.

Because of the Federation and its philosophy--given proper training, a blind

person can do anything a sighted person can do--thousands of blind people have

jobs, lead independent lives, and know that vision is not necessary to a successful,

happy life.

I have been blind from infancy, and

I can honestly tell you there have been only three times I have fleetingly wished

I could see. None of those times did I wish to see everything in the world.

On my wedding day I would have liked to see the love my groom felt for me reflected

in his eyes--and to have been able to reciprocate. But I felt that love in his

hand when he took mine. I heard it in his voice as he said his vows. I felt

how deep it was in his embrace. My joy was not diminished by not seeing him.

People who see do not feel deeper emotion. In fact, I wonder if they may be

more easily distracted from deep emotion. In any case vision is but one way

to show emotion and to recognize it in others.

The other two days I might fleetingly

have wished for sight were the days I gave birth to my two beautiful sons. I

know they were beautiful; I counted all their fingers and toes. I stroked their

faces and their hair. I gently held them and talked to them. And do you know,

we bonded just as we would have if I could have seen them! I didn't miss a thing.

And if I touched them slightly more than the seeing mother, then perhaps we

bonded a little more deeply.

In growing up, my sons never said,

"Mommy, I wish you could see." Occasionally well-meaning sighted adults,

believing they were sympathizing with needy children, said it: "Wouldn't

it be wonderful if your mommy could see?" More often than not, my children

expressed dismay at others' lack of knowledge about blindness and unwillingness

to accept me. They did not suffer from having a blind mother. During a conversation

about my being blind when my older son was six, he said, "Mommy, you can't

drive, but you can give me hugs and kisses and read to me and go for walks with

me. You're a good Mommy." At twelve my younger son said to his father and

me, "I wish I had money for Christmas presents for you. You're such good

parents. You help me know how to live, but you don't make stupid rules, and

you don't change your mind all the time." I didn't need a present, and

I didn't need to see to give him a hug or to feel the pride and joy I felt in

being his mother.

My children were often made uncomfortable

by adults' assumptions, which were sometimes passed to them through their friends.

When my younger son's fifth grade student teacher asked, "Marcus, when

did you know your mom was different?" he knew what she meant.

His answer: "My mom's different?"

When my older son's second-grade friend

asked how I could know how much noise they were making, Matt pointedly told

him, "She's blind, not deaf, you dummy."

Neither of the boys understood or

accepted the assumption that they were my caretakers. People often said to them,

"I bet you're a big help to your Mommy. Do you help her find things?"

Once Marcus was confused by an elderly

friend's question: "Marcus, are you out walking your mom?"

When we'd passed his house, he said

to me, "Mommy, I think he thinks you're my dog!" He was four at the

time and didn't even really understand that I couldn't see. It happened to be

a beautiful night, and we were out for a walk together. I held his hand because

sometimes, being four, he forgot to stop at intersections and look both ways.

On my journey through life I have

not missed out on the beauty of nature; the intimacy of close relationships;

the fulfillments of education, employment, and giving to others; or any of the

joys and sorrows that fill a life. I have been richly blessed, and I would not

change a thing--including having experienced life through my ears, nose, tongue,

and fingertips rather than my eyes. Those who can see would not willingly choose

blindness, nor would I expect them to. But the belief that sight is the only--or

at least the best--way to experience the world is a fallacy, and the time has

come to lay it to rest. I reject Miss Keller's "Three Days to See."

What a waste of three days! And if you think your life is fuller, richer, better

than mine because you can see, I think you are wrong.

Sincerely,

Sandra

J. Ryan, MS, RD, LD

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